My writing table has seen all my wretchedness, knows all my plans, has overheard all my thoughts.

Those sweetly smiling angels with pensive looks, innocent faces, and cash-boxes for hearts.

You cannot pluck love out of your heart as you would pull a tooth.

Like hunger, physical love is a necessity. But man's appetite for amour is never so regular or so sustained as his appetite for the delights of the table.

One day, about the middle of July 1838, one of the carriages, lately introduced to Paris cabstands, and known as Milords, was driving down the Rue de l'Universite, conveying a stout man of middle height in the uniform of a captain of the National Guard.

Let us leave the cure of public evils to those quacks, the statesmen.

To forget is the great secret of strong creative natures; to forget is the way nature herself who knows no past and who at every hour begins the mysteries of her untiring labors afresh.